


Spanish

by edourado



Series: Hell's Kitchen Chronicles [118]
Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Frank is turned on, by Karen, kastle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 07:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16806253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edourado/pseuds/edourado
Summary: She speaks and it does something to him





	Spanish

**Author's Note:**

> Devastated by the cancelation of Daredevil. This was written before the news, but posted to, hopefully, lighten up the mood.

This one catches him completely by surprise.

The other ones? Yeah, those he gets. Expects and understands, but this is completely new.

Frank is used, by now, to the little things in her that make him feel warm inside - and outside. Has caught himself smiling at the mere thought of her more times than he cares to admit. And he’s not a kid anymore, he knows what he likes. And she checks more boxes everyday.

But this? This was never something he thought he might feel so strongly about.

She speaks Spanish. And he loves it. What the fuck.

She’s standing by the kitchen counter, a phone glued to her ear, pen flying over the notepad as she writes information down. Her beer bottle is sweating in his hand, and it’s a perfect translation of what he’s feeling while watching the little scene.

Karen says something, waits a beat and then something else, a little smile that tells him she’s being pleasant when she doesn’t want to be.

Frank does not understand the words. A “si” here, a “nosotros” there, he catches a “por supuesto” and a “noche”. She speaks and he watches her, and behind him, David types and types, mumbling to himself, fixed on his codes and programs.

“Gracias” is one of the last words she says before she hangs up, placing the phone on the counter before scribbling furiously on her notepad again.

“Ok, meeting’s set”, she informs them, and Frank has to pull himself back to reality, blink to stop staring at her so hard he risked drilling a hole in her face. “Thursday night, Astoria.”

She looks back at him and _god damnit_. God fucking damnit, get a hold of yourself, man.

“You can’t go”, she tells him, mistaking his staring for interest in the development of the case and not in this new trait of hers that he finds out he loves.

“Why not?” Is what he asks, pretending to be as focused as she is.

“Because, Frank. It would not work if he even imagines I’m not alone.”

“Hmm”. He concedes, because one, he knows she’s right and two, he honestly doesn’t have the mental capacity for arguing right now. Not when that image and the sound of her voice around Spanish words are still so fresh. “I’ll be in the car, though.”

“That’s fine”, she agrees, taking her beer back from him and looking down again, scribbling some more. “David, did you get that?” She calls, lifting her head to look behind Frank.

“Hmm?”, Lieberman mumbles, typing away, not taking his eyes off the screen in front of him. “Yeah, one sugar.”

Karen looks at Frank, a little annoyed and oh. Ok, back to familiar territory. That he always knew he liked. A little bit of temper.

“David!”

“Yeah, what- What?”

“I set the meeting!”

“Right. Oh! Great! I’ll have the codes for you in the morning. I’m just finishing up with your evidence here.”

“No rush.”

She sips her beer, pulls her hair out of her face and supports a hand on her own neck, her hip jutting to the side a bit, sighing. She’s tired.

“Didn’t know you could do that”, Frank finds himself saying, not wanting his beer anymore, it tastes like ash, he wants a taste of hers.

“Do what?” Karen leans on the counter and supports her chin on the heel of her hand, red nails contrasting against the fair skin of her cheek.

“Speak Spanish. That new?”

He’s flirting. Again. He does that, now, doesn’t even feel it anymore. It’s like breathing.

And there’s a smile, that tiny smile she throws his direction sometimes. Plus that flattering little hint of red on her cheeks, that tells him that whatever he said is welcome. Even when she’s tired and a little bit irritated.

“Not really.”

“No?”

She shakes her head, blinking slowly towards him.

“When did you learn?”

“High school.”

“Oh, come on.”

“What?” A furrow of brows, a more vigorous blink, and an attempt to hide that smile. Frank feels the urge to bite hard on that lower lip, until she whimpers under him.

“That’s not high school Spanish.”

“Yes it is! I had a good teacher.”

They look at each other, him standing there with that beer bottle in his hand, her with her hip against the counter, his blood pumping and pumping inside his veins, he feels warm. Wants to check if she’s warm, too.

He says something else about how the teacher must really be good, she says that she was also a good student, it was not just the teacher, give her some credit. He smiles some more and she does, too, and then David is saying something about a flash drive being ready, she is getting up, gathering her stuff, focusing on David, arranging whatever it is that they had to do tomorrow, who cares, he wants to hear her saying Spanish words again.

Frank walks her to her car, tells her to drive safe, he’ll call tomorrow, and she drives away, flashing her lights at him once.

“Ok”, David says when he walks back in. “I’m gonna say something. You’re gonna feel the urge to punch me-“

“Then why say it?”

“Because it’s for your own good.”

Frank sighs, picking his beer up from the counter again and taking a sip before deciding he really doesn’t want it anymore.

“You should just kiss her.”

“Lieberman.”

“What?! You’re so- look at you!”

Frank looks at him instead.

“Stop.”

“It’s just so obvious. It’s also kinda painful to watch, so you should just, you know, kiss her and put us all out of our collective misery.”

He rolls his eyes, dismissing the notion as if it’s ridiculous, but it sticks. It sticks, like one of those adhesive price tags on cheap china.

It sticks. But who is he kidding, it has been stuck for a while, now.

When met with silence, David lets out a sharp exhale.

“That was it. I said it. Now we can move on. Would you like her to wear a wire?”

.:.

Thursday comes, she wears a wire, he waits for her in the car, almost gets out of the car six times, she comes back, they go back to David’s, they transcribe her little interview, she translates, and Frank retains nothing of it.

All he hears is her voice, crawling inside him, tongue full of rolls and unfamiliar tilts. He loves every syllable.

He melts again, she smiles again, whispers to him again - in English, sadly -, he teases again, she blushes again, she teases back. They look and they stare and she leaves and he yearns. Again. Still.

“Just kiss her, man.”

“Shut up.”

.:.

The article comes out the following week, exposing the laundering money scheme the congressman has set up, that Karen dug up with the help of one of his former private employees, a driver who could barely speak any English, but had incriminating documents.

Frank waits for her outside of work, just in case. Something big like this, it’s not an outlandish notion to think someone might try something against her.

She invites him up for a beer, and they’re walking into her apartment when her phone rings, and she tells him is her source, probably calling to confirm David’s tinkering with immigration documents worked.

Oh boy. Here we go.

She answers the call and, judging by her tone, everything is fine. She is sweet and he catches a “de nada”, and he is trying to be cool, but it’s really difficult, the place is dark, it smells like her, and she is walking around barefoot, lighting a lamp here, opening a window there, and he hair is twisted in a braid over her shoulder, he can see the back of her neck, and she is speaking Spanish, Frank is gone. Gone, done for, no denying it, this is just… Lord.

Those Spanish words do something to him. Something he doesn’t even recognize. One minute he’s leaning on the kitchen table, looking at her, listening as she has a whole conversation he can’t understand, watching her, one minute she looks at him with a smile that says “we did it”, and he is sustaining her look, she keeps talking, and then he is getting up, making his way to her, and her eyes are shifting on him, questioning, waiting, big and round and blue.

Frank feels hypnotized when he gets to her and lifts a hand to her face, a current of something electric running through his skin. He can’t understand the words, but he knows she’s mumbling, now, and he sees her eyes closing before he closes his own and interrupts her, cutting her speech off with a kiss, and the hand that’s been holding the phone to her ear goes around his neck, and he can hear the guy on the other end, talking away while he kisses her, lips and teeth and tongue.

She tastes like coffee, and Frank wants to melt against her, he wants to taste all of her, to devour her, shit, this feels so good so good so good-

Karen’s breath hitches and she takes her arm from around his neck to put the phone back against her ear, but doesn’t step away from him. Her lips are against his face while she resumes her conversation, and he knows from her tone that she’s wrapping up.

Well, that’s no fun.

Frank hears the hitch when she tries to contain a gasp while he grazes his teeth on the skin of her neck, not to gently. He doesn’t really feel gentle, right now.

“Mañana”, she says, trying to keep on talking normally, her hand gripping the material of his shirt, and Frank moves his mouth to the other side of her neck, trying to chase the vibration of her vocal chords with his tongue.

She puts the phone away from her face when he kisses her again, he imagines, so the guy doesn’t hear the sound she makes. That whimper, that one he can translate.

It means redemption. It means relief. It means confusion and understanding, all at the same time. She’s caught by surprise, but she on board. At least that’s what he gets by the way she’s kissing him back.

Her arm is around his neck again, and he hears the guy going “Miss Karen?”, with his thick accent, _Kah-ren_ , and Frank reaches for it, touches it to her ear again, touches his mouth to the spot on her jaw while she tries to sound normal.

He could, honest to God, listen to her all night. Would gladly stand there while she speaks, squeezing her with his hands and tasting her skin on his tongue.

Too soon, though, she is hanging up and looking for his mouth with hers, and there are no complaints from him.

When the flow of Spanish words stop, though, he remembers all the reasons he’s been telling himself not to do this.

And here he is, doing it, without preface or warning.

“I should go”, he says after sucking on her neck, voice weak as his will, taking a step backwards, not before stealing one, two, three, four more kisses. For the road.

“Um…”, she says back, breathing a little shallow, touching her own lips, blinking at him. “Uh… O-Ok.”

Frank looks at her for a second, and there is something so strong inside him, something so sure.

“I’m not gonna go”, he whispers, stepping back in, hands on her face, into her hair, guiding her face to his, delighted with the little smile that appears for him.

“No”, she agrees before he kisses her again.

.:.

He walks into David’s kitchen the next morning. They need to go look at a potential “office” space.

“So”, Lieberman starts, offering him a mug of coffee. “Did you kiss her or what.”

Frank sighs, almost annoyed, but he still has the memory of her all wrapped around him from last night and this morning, so it’s not convincing.

At all.

“Oh shit”, goes David. “Sarah! He kissed her!”

“The fuck are you doing?” He asks at the same time she shouts a “Finally!” from upstairs.


End file.
